Dripping Gasoline
by Italian Skunk
Summary: With a howl, the older of the two ignited the Out of Order posters up in flames with a simple, angered gesture. It was an obvious trail, and Romano knew that, but he didn't care. (PLEASE READ LATEST UPDATE)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - Okay so I got this idea from an old drawing I found. Updates do not have a set date, and probably won't, and I don't know how long this will take, but I hope everyone enjoys it! Sorry for any incorrect translations! Please review! ;D**

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><p>The city lights were glowing and glittering in the early morning. The sky was still quite dark, as the horizon had yet to light up with sunrise. People littered the streets, living in the gleam of light coming from street lamps, headlights, the billboards, and the 24-hour stores. Their bags crinkled and became the gentle noise with honking cars, thudding feet, and the endless chatter and music.<p>

Two men pushed their way through the clusters of people, one shouting apologizes and the other yelling at those ahead of them to get out of their way. Their dark jackets fluttered out behind them, dark boots slamming and scuffing off of the cement. The light caught in their wide, frantic, observing eyes.

"_Dai!_ _God damnit_, get out of our way!" It was obvious that the brother who shouted this was the older one, and was keeping a tight grip on his younger brother's hand as to avoid separation.

"_Permesso, permesso!_ Oh God, so sorry, excuse us!" The younger brother yelped, tripping over his feet to match his pace with his brother.

They continued running, not looking back as they pushed people away and possibly knocked some onto the ground. The company building was in their sight, looming tall and dark with glowing gold lights in their many meeting rooms. The lobby was lit up as they could see from the far away revolving doors and large ground-floor windows.

"We're almost there, Feli, okay?" Romano managed out, breathless from their long run. Italy tripped again.

"Okay, okay, Lovi…" Italy rasped, welcoming himself to the arm his brother wrapped around his shoulders.

They continued down the street with the occasional glance over the shoulder before they threw themselves into one of the two revolving doors. It was empty, save for the young lady at the check-in desk. It was the glance she gave them that urged them on. Romano and Italy whipped around for the elevators.

With a howl, the older of the two ignited the Out of Order posters up in flames with a simple, angered gesture. It was an obvious trail, and Romano knew that, but he didn't care.

"Damnit to hell! Go for the stairs." he spat at his brother, and they ran for the door that looked like it belonged in a hospital. The sign above it was lit red as a set of steps.

They tumbled upwards, floor after floor, skipping steps and if either of them lost their footing, then it would basically be the end. Italy hadn't meant to, he had judged the distance between the step he was on and the two before him wrong.

"_Fratello!_" he yelped, scrambling up but collapsing again. Tears were trailing down his cheeks and fell onto the rubber-coated steps, outlining as they gathered around his hands. The thin streams of water dug into the rubber as Italy clenched his hands.

Romano didn't curse, simply turned and held his hand out. Italy took it and his brother heaved him onto the landing he stood on. Italy knew what the look in those green eyes meant, though. _Now's not the time to be twisting your ankle._

"Feli, _per favore_, just get to the room. Just go, damnit, please…"

"But you promised-…!"

"_Lo so_. I know what I promised, Feli; now please just listen to me. Listen to your older brother, Feli, just this once! Get up to the room and wait for me, okay?"

Italy hiccupped a sob, leaving his brother in the dusty, flickering, yellow light of the stairs.

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><p>Italy managed to trudge his way up the several flights in the matter of a minute or two. He didn't know whether he was blocking out the noise or if there was nothing happening just yet, but there was complete silence coming from the floors below him.<p>

He pushed open the door to the correct floor, whimpering and almost falling. He was caught in a combination of jogging and limping to the double doors of the Nations' meeting room, but pushed open them open.

Eyes of numerous colors flashed to him, the greetings caught on their tongues being swallowed. Germany was standing at the far end.

Italy allowed a shaky breath to leave his lips before he spoke. "The projector, Arthur, and please bring up the cameras."

England tilted his head, with his attention shifting from France to Italy, but fit a remote to his hand. With the press of a button, the projector came to life and lit up the wall. The live video feed from the cameras filled the space a few seconds later.

For a single second, the feed faltered, but flashed back again. Italy watched as Romano filled the flight of stairs with flames.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - Part 2! c: Enjoy and review, please!**

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><p>As soon as the flames licked up the walls, the video feed stopped. For a single second, there was pure silence, and then the static from the failed video started up, and Italy released the first of his heartbreaking sobs.<p>

It had been ten minutes, and Italy had collapsed into the wall nearest to him to cry. Other Nations like Germany, Japan, France, and even Hungary came around to try and comfort him, but Italy would actually glare or request that he wanted to be alone, at last for a little bit, before hearing their advice and seeking comfort. He had just witnessed his brother's death, as did they. So he sat alone, unaware of the glances and the faint conversation amongst the others.

"Why…" he muttered from where he was curled up against the wall. His knees were tucked under his chin, a finger trailed at his injured ankle. "Why did he… why did _fratello_ do that? What does it mean?"

Italy's mind was on a whirlwind. That was it. What did that footage mean? It didn't tell the Nations if Romano lived, or if he died. He could have survived; he knew how his fire worked. Romano had tricks up his sleeves like his poker cards for being able to use fire like that.

Italy could remember, before Grandpa Rome died and they hadn't fallen apart, watching Romano practice with his fire. He would flip and twist and twirl through the flames, and had only gotten burned because Grandpa Rome had yelled at him to keep it away from a younger Italy's hair.

And in their mafia days, in times of great despair, Romano would disappear and reappear in the midst of his fire. But never had he used his fire like that in the staircase.

"Why would he do that? He always promised… He always promises to come back!" Italy's voice was renewed in a wail that was muffled by his arms. He had wrapped them around his legs, and had tucked his head away from the others like that would keep them from seeing him.

And they weren't doing _anything_.

Or, everyone but England. England was trying to find a working camera that would show the staircase, to see if Romano was on any of the other staircases, because he could use his fire like a slingshot too, to propel himself closer to the meeting room.

He couldn't find a single working camera.

Italy had offered to go out and look, but they didn't know the status of the stairs. Were they completely destroyed? Only where Romano was? Or certain parts of the stairs?

"Wait," France spoke up. "The fire alarm and the sprinklers haven't gone off? Our spark of hope that he could still be alive..."

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><p>The doors flew open, and Romano stood there. He searched for his brother with his bright gaze.<p>

Having finally located him, Romano ran and fell to his knees. He slid the rest of the distance, wrapping his arms around Italy. Italy gasped upon realization, holding onto his brother because Romano being there was exactly what he needed. "Lovi, Lovi…! _Per favore, per favore_…"

"You're safe now, you're fine." Romano mumbled, reluctantly because there were the other Nations still there, and repeated it softly until Italy was calm and the others were still waiting for answers. He was digging through the first aid kit France had given him, binding up his brother's injury. Italy was shaky and couldn't bind the burns his brother's fire had put on him, so they sat at the table where Spain quickly applied some medicine to treat them and wove gauze around the slim hands.

"What the hell, Lovino!" spat England from further down the table. "Did you want us to think you died?"

"Would you like for me to have been kidnapped and tested on until you couldn't recognize me instead? I gave those sick, _masked_ bastards what they deserved. I can live with the burns, because hell, _wasn't that Pompeii in your view, a couple of burns_?" Romano snapped, his gaze flickering to all of the others. He had made a hand gesture when he said that, and almost messed up Spain taping down a small pad of gauze for the cut on his temple.

Germany was thankful for the dead silence that followed.

"So you were being chased?" he questioned after a moment. It was a situation they had all lived through, and it had become so cliché and a part of their lives.

"No, not at all, you potato bastard." Romano sneered sarcastically. His green eyes became snakelike, dripping with venom.

"_Por favor_, Lovi, just tell us what happened." Spain requested.

"They were all around us, but we didn't know it…" Italy started.

"Yeah, and we were trying to catch the subway. Stupid _fratello_ bumped into some lady, spilled her drink." Romano continued.

"And I… I didn't want to get it all over her clothes or mine… so I bended it back into her cup on instinct… And I…" Italy's voice cracked with the makings of beginning to cry. "And I really wish it wasn't water…!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N - Part 3! Timeskip, where quite a bit has happened ;3**

**I made a list of all of the Nations taking part in this whole situation and what ability they have~ (EARTH) America, Germany, Spain (AIR) Canada, Japan, Belgium (WATER) England, France, Italy (FIRE) Romano, Prussia**

**Some of them were hard to decide for! v.v And idk if Japan will have an actual part in this or not, he just kind of got written down... ^^;**

**Please tell me if there are any errors, or if you'd like to know the translations thus far! Enjoy and review!**

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><p>"… -vino, are you doing okay?"<p>

Romano opened his eyes at the cup of coffee in front of his face. Spain had just gotten back from a coffee-run, having handed out the other Nations' drinks, all but Romano's. His green eyes twinkled as he took his seat at his section of table beside his boyfriend.

Oh yes, in the time before both the chase and Italy's kidnapping, Italy and France plotted their close friends' doom. By planning a date, those assholes. Italy only wanted it to go as far as a first, passionate kiss between the two, which happened, but France wondered if a certain hotheaded Italian would be taken by the end of the night, which also, surprisingly, happened as that was one passionate kiss.

(It would have remained unknown if Italy didn't go blabbing about how well the date went to Germany and Japan like a week later while Romano was in the room watching Prussia rig Austria's chair in the meeting room to fall apart.)

Romano rolled his shoulders, sitting the coffee off to the side. He rested his forehead on his overlapped arms, tilting his head to give Spain a nasty glare. "What do you think?" he whispered, voice rough like brick.

"_Sí, pero_…" Spain sighed, tilting his head away. "Italy wouldn't want you being this way. He would want you to get some sleep, and eat healthy, and after rubbing his cheek against that tiny, _tiny_ bit of stubble, he'd want you to shave as to not seem like Francis."

Romano snapped upright, the hand lingering on the table threatening to burn a handprint onto its surface. "Is that so?" Romano laughed, and it was quick, dry, unamused and just to add salt to the large wound put on all of them. "For all we know-"

Spain knew where it was going as those exact words started to leave his lips. "For all we know," he picked up. "Feli could be alive."

Italy had been missing for three months. It had happened late into the night when both brothers in the house were sleeping. They had hit the blind spots of many of the security cameras, and any that caught them revealed them to be wearing masks – the same gang that had chased them the first time. They had ambushed Italy in a surprise attack in the kitchen when he went for a drink. Romano had heard the struggle, and got into it himself. It had explained the multiple burns on his body and the lashes from both Italy's bending water and their attackers' weapons.

It was three months later and not a single word, not a single taunting message.

Romano sighed, leaning back. He crossed his arms and glared at something else that wasn't Spain.

"Lovi…" he murmured. He continued to ignore him, so he left it at that.

Spain settled down into his seat, skimming his fingertip over the mouse pad of his laptop to wake it up. He typed in his password, and then took a sip of his coffee. He would have to try and persuade Romano to go home and rest because he really wasn't okay.

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><p>"Lovi…?"<p>

"Lovino?"

"Lovino!"

Romano mumbled, opening his eyes into slits. Spain was kneeling beside his chair, and a few glances fell their way. "_What_." He hissed. It didn't sound like much of a question as he turned to look at the Earth… well, they couldn't help calling themselves things off of Avatar – Romano only ever watched it to see what the hell was up with everyone talking about it. But Spain was an "Earthbender," like that badass blind girl from the show. Oh how he digressed.

"Ludwig talked to me; he wants me to take you back to the hotel to rest, but I can't so Em is. And, um…" Spain glanced away for a moment, suddenly caught in the middle.

"You're hesitating." Romano pointed out, narrowing his eyes.

"He doesn't want you working on the case trying to find Feli… _"__It's personal and may cause him to do something rash."_ was what he reasoned with…"

Romano was alive with anger. He warmed the arm of his chair until it burned red, the portion he held snapping softly off of the rest. "Is he oblivious to the fact that everything I do is rash?! The Vargas brothers _define_ rash. Is he _that_ blind and deaf and everything else to not realize this, like really? Toast with a boot, my ass, I'll shove it up his!" he snapped.

Spain had to admit that he disguised his laugh with a couple harsh coughs. Once calm, he gave his boyfriend a concerned look. "But, Lovi… He's right. If you do something rash, you may end up in Italy's situation, or worse."

That was a cruel blow. Romano, as tired and pissed off as he felt and looked, now appeared like a broken ragdoll. In the back of his mind, he knew he was overreacting over Spain siding with Germany and the threat of ending up like his brother, but he was a wild card with Italy missing, when he could be somewhere in the world just lying there absolutely alone and dying. Without a word, he drew away from the table on the swivel chair, standing and walking off to where Belgium was at her section of table.

He told her he was ready to go, and left without looking back.

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><p>Romano remained with his attention out the window at the sky. He could hear Belgium nibbling at one of the pastries from the box they'd bought from a café a couple streets back by the crinkle of wax paper. They were at a red light, and the radio was playing lightly.<p>

Belgium gave the frosting of her dessert a delicate lick, glancing at him. "You know," she started, taking another. "He meant well."

Romano gave her a glance. "Who, exactly?" he murmured.

"Toni… and Ludwig, I suppose." Belgium said, tapping her fingertips of her freehand against the steering wheel as they waited. "Our little Feli is close to them too. Ludwig's just trying to do what he thinks is best, and… if that's telling Toni to tell you that you shouldn't be a part of the work because it's personal, then maybe that's what is best-"

Belgium was just about done speaking that bit, but Romano cut in.

"Okay, yes, I see their stupid point and how it's just telling me it isn't fair I get kicked off but none of them do. But I was there." A deep, slow breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He had to let the nightmare out. "He was screaming and I couldn't… I… didn't make it in time, I could have…"

"Breathe… Just breathe, Lovi."

He hadn't noticed how they had drifted away from the red light, and she had parked in some grocery store parking lot. He couldn't breathe, his heart was racing, and he couldn't find the right words. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

"I just… I…" his gaze flickered to find something he could focus on. It was flashing before his eyes, in his ears. He heard Italy scream for his help, he ran down the hall way… and, and, and…

"_And deep, deep down, a part of me is so relieved that it was him and not me…!_"


	4. Chapter 4

It had been only a month since then. During this time, Romano worked from within his and Spain's hotel room when all of the other Nations were at the company building. He had the equipment, just had to carry it from place to place, which was _so tiring_. This was whenever Spain left their room to go to the company building, and Romano had to reluctantly quit when Spain was expected to come back and hurry to find something else to do so he would seem innocent.

There was only one time he was allowed back, though. And that had been when evidence that his brother was, in fact, still alive, had been sent to his e-mail. But letting him try and hunt down the location was apparently the exact thing Germany considered "rash" because it would lead to Romano going in alone to put a surprise attack into action.

That _so_ wasn't what Romano planned on doing, but God damnit, why couldn't he do anything fun anymore.

The evidence had been a video clip and a photoset of seven photos.

The video was painful, much less than the photos, in a way. Whoever the hell it was that took Italy was using water against him. Cornering him in a small place, where he had nowhere to run or hide, blasting him full-on with wave after wave of assumed ice-cold water as they demanded to know what he and the other Nations exactly were. And where they had gained their bending abilities was something else they wanted to know. And who had what.

_"__No… no, no, no! __Lovi… Lovi, save…" his voice was lost in a gasp of coughing and choking to get the water out of his system.__ "__Fire, fire, please, please… Fire… Stop…!"_

A deep breath of the fresh, bitter coffee he held snugly in his hands that had been nipped by the cold morning air. He was leaning on the small kitchen table.

_"__And… and the others?" he blinked tiredly, his thin body tense.__ "__And the others will find me too… and they'll... they'll have to."_

He stood straighter, slowly, and stole a glance over his shoulder at the light from the windows falling upon the bed on his stuff. Laptop and all of the notes he had taken before being kicked off.

… Maybe he should just do as he's told for once, shut down his laptop and gather up the notes and hide them until the end of the day. But then something caught his eye. A simple paper-brown packed lunch. Spain's lunch.

"How cliché, probably did it on purpose, the bastard." He grumbled, putting his morning wake-me-up aside and roughly snatching up the bag.

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><p>The elevators, damned things, were at least working when he arrived. He retraced his steps from every other time up to the correct floor and door.<p>

"Hey, bastard, you left your lun-…" he started, and fell quiet as his olive gaze caught sight of the video being projected. Those nearest to him turned out of surprise, and before anyone could force Romano out of the room, Italy was flung back into view of the camera with a wail before slamming into the wall and falling still once on the ground, covered in water that ran through patches of blood. How he knew, because the video was in color.

The bag left his hand, and he stood there trying to deny that was what he just saw. Italy still wasn't moving. And then it cut to black.

"Lovino…!" several exclaimed out of surprise once noticing him. Spain was heading for him, probably to take him home. To try taking him home.

"What… what was _that_…" he tried to say, loud, demanding, and fighting against Spain to stay in the room.

"Lovino, _por favor_, come with me. Please, just-…" Spain stammered out. He didn't want this, obviously, but now he just wanted to hold Romano and tell him everything would be alright, that it still didn't explain if Italy was actually dead. Voices from the others were mixing together; he could hear the disbelief in their words, the disgust, and everything else.

"No, I can't go back-!"

Spain jumped back, he did it on instinct, and raised him arms to protect himself. Earthbending back at his boyfriend, he couldn't. Romano's voice had only cut off because the crackle of fire as he lashed out had been louder.

Romano felt trapped, like an animal. He had nowhere to go, with the video restarting before his very eyes, pressing itself into his memory. He felt like his poor little brother, even though he was free to retreat.

"It's just… It's… Is he..." He choked on his shaky puffs of air. "He's… he's dead?"

He was at first looking at the others, even hunting for any confirmation from Germany, but then he was staring straight ahead at Spain, who crouched on the ground. His arms were lightly burned.

"… _N-no sé_…"

Romano ran.

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><p>He was huddled amongst the metalwork in the basement of the building. It was incredibly hot, but Romano didn't care, it was what he was used to. He was waiting for the commotion of footsteps to come thudding his way, to force him out of the building.<p>

_He's dead, he's dead… My little brother's dead, and I could have prevented it… Oh my God…_ "_… __Mi chiamo Lovino Vargas e-…_"

"Lovino Vargas, _please_, we are _not_ pulling a _Mockingjay Part One_ here."

He jolted in surprise at the new voice, France's voice, having believed he was alone and didn't know he was actually saying what he had been thinking. Romano kept pressed against the machinery he was hiding behind, glaring at the other Nation as he came forward and settled down beside him.

"Now what has you hyped up, hm?" France asked after a moment.

Romano remained where he sat, knees pinned under his chin. He looked away, lips pressed into a thin frown. France kept waiting patiently, a light hum passing his lips. The dull, reddish glow of the basement reflected brightly in their blue and green eyes.

Romano hissed, unable to take the silence anymore. "Why do you care?"

France sighed lightly. "It seems you have forgotten."

Romano raised an eyebrow at that. What could he forget?

He could remember Pompeii like it had been yesterday. The Italian Unification was crystal clear. World War II, it whirled around him like a breeze. Italy being taken right from under him, he felt like he was always reliving a nightmare.

"Yes, it does seem likely. You and your brother share Italy, and the immortality must be split to handle two personifications for one whole country, as it isn't viewed as… Northern Italy and Southern Italy? You two have no borders to be two countries. So mortality must fill in the rest, sadly. I believe I've gotten that down correctly. And what are humans known for? Forgetting."

"Get to the point, bastard." Romano spat, his flaring attitude seeming to make the heat of the basement increase. He felt like a child again, stuck with his babbling little brother and a grandfather recalling the times of his younger days.

"Well, Lovino, have you forgotten that, even amongst our differences, we are all still a family?"

Romano opened his mouth to prove France wrong, but the moment those words hit him; he pressed his lips together again. Perhaps he did forget that in the end, the Nations were just one, big family, related or not.

"So that is why I care. Even though we look at you and think _Lovino is Feli's big brother and Feli is Lovino's little brother_ –despite what might be said about that height difference-!" Romano punched him in the shoulder. France gave a little laugh. "We will look at you and think deep down "_Damn, what bratty little brothers I have!" _or _"__I hope someday, I can be like my big brothers Lovino and Feliciano!"_ We are a family Lovino. We are also like ducks."

"Like ducks?" Romano repeated.

"Imagine a mother and child duck, _oui_? Something happens to the mother's baby; she will come and get her revenge with a few not-so-nice nips!" At this, France used his hand to "nip" at Romano's arm. Really, he expected to get punched, but Romano was waiting for him to continue. His wide green eyes reminded France of a child. "Well, if something happens to one of our fellow Nations, we will nip those bastards to hell!"

Romano's face really did break then, into a smile that caused France to pause and mentally panic. And then Romano was lightly laughing, and the sound, having never been heard before, seemed a bit like music. But France didn't care if he was laughing because it sounded like an absolutely stupid metaphor connection or from whatever other reason there was.

Romano leaned back, aware of France placing a comforting arm upon his shoulders. His smile died, and his expression became upset again. "… Then… _fratello_ is okay?"

"Yes, he is alright. We received the video and a smaller photoset just a few minutes before you arrived. The video is about two weeks old, and the most recent photo's date is from today." France confirmed for him.

Romano was silent. He had overreacted, big time. "What a piece of trash I must be then. I could have killed Antonio… and…"

"And at least you followed his advice on shaving," France teased, earning a look from the other. "But you would never kill him, you know it. I could see, you just needed a good rant, even if with your fire... But they sent me to have you talk to me. We all know you aren't okay, but it runs deeper than that. Emma managed to get you to talk to her; could you tell me what you told her?"

"… I told her a secret. A secret that won't let me sleep, and won't let me eat… a secret that I wish would kill me." He whispered.

"And that was?"

"A part of me was really happy, after the realization that he wasn't coming back after the first week, that it was him to be kidnapped and not me. But then… I'm his big brother. He looks up to me when he has absolutely no one else and why did I let this happen…" A deep breath. He didn't want to flip out.

France wondered why it had been so easy to get it out of Romano, but then figured that he wanted someone to talk to, that Romano was tired of not being able to sleep, hated being the reason he wasn't eating, and certainly wanted to be there when Italy returned home.

"So why are we taking forever to do this? What is so wrong with letting me go rescue him? I've been trying to find his location…"

France didn't expect to be asked that. "… We… We were at first against having you be let off from this case. But it did make sense that if you ambush them and get captured, it would put you and Feli in even more danger. I think the reason as to why we are taking forever on this is not because of needing more information… I think it's because _we're afraid_."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - I got new glasses! :'D I hope to update like crazy soon since Christmas break is approaching too but who knows. AND ohmygosh the Legend of Korra season 4 finale just v.v Anyways, enjoy.

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><p>"… That's…"<p>

"Stupid, _je sais_. But think about it. All we've ever gone up against was nature and other Nations… And yes, there'd been humans, but humans as a whole force against us…? Isn't that kind of scary? Humans that know we're immortal, humans that _try_ to figure out what they can do to make us die?"

France gave Romano a look, unwrapping his arm from his shoulders. With his movement, he pulled away the sweat clinging to their skin from the temperature. He held the ball of water between them at his fingertips.

"Scary that something that helps us live can also kill us. That they managed to figure that out and use it against Feliciano… is… unbelievable." He murmured, letting the sweat go so that it splashed onto the floor.

Romano stood then, and turned to help France up. "But we can't keep doing this, you know that." He started. "We can't let them keep Feli for any longer… Keep it up and I won't care any longer about the rules. I'll go after him myself."

France gave a thoughtful look as they left the basement, up to the ground floor. They entered the lobby.

"Perhaps I will see what I can do. Talk to them and try to convince them to let you back, where we can end this."

"And nip those bastards to hell," Romano agreed with a sad gleam in his eyes. For the time being, he would put everything he held against the others in the past. Until he got his brother back.

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><p>Spain was quick to return to the hotel so he could be with Romano. He had important news.<p>

The elevator up to the floor of their room was quick, where Spain flew down the hallway, unlocking the door and putting his stuff aside before hurrying to find and give Romano a hug from behind. Romano, in question, was washing that morning's dishes in the kitchen.

"Lovi, Lovi, Lovi!"

Romano's face twisted into a mix of faint amusement and annoyance. "What, what, what?" he asked, his teeth gritting, as he took up his mug from earlier in the soapy water to dry it with a rag.

"You can come back to help us with finding Feli!" Spain broke out into one of his stupid, heartwarming grins. "So I give you a celebratory kiss!" And it was with that, Spain did as he said, whipping Romano around to lean close and peck his lips.

But a peck was not good enough. More than a lousy little peck was needed to calm Romano from the high that he was able to go back, that he didn't have to work in secret. To be honest, he didn't believe France would be able to win. But maybe a lousy little celebratory peck was good enough.

Yet oh wow, how those two simply put that thought to the back of their minds and the mug in the water was forgotten. But what they did try to forget was the world around them, at least for a few hours, as their lips met again. And again and again and again, with Spain's hands exploring and Romano's clasped around his neck and their eyes closed and their bedroom a much more private place.

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><p>It was the next morning when Romano entered the meeting room with Spain by his side. They were greeted warmly by the couple of Nations already there, and they welcomed Romano back too.<p>

"Try to not fall asleep, again, okay?" Spain chuckled as they took their seats, at their usual places, except Romano's had been empty for a month.

Romano was silent for a moment, and then he stole a sigh. "_Lo so, lo so_, don't remind me. Please, keep me awake with loads of coffee to avoid the nightmares, even kick me out of my chair." He grumbled, stifling his yawn with a shift in his seat.

Not long after that, the meeting began.

Romano was often relied on for their unanswered questions, and even went as far as having to unplug England's laptop, pushing him out of his chair, to settle down and take over. He stole the man's remote, standing by the projected images to discuss his findings.

Romano showed research for every little thing that he had taken a good look into, even if some of them had gone unfinished because he couldn't do this alone. The Masked Destroyers, The Destroyers, The GOD DAMNED Masked, Romano would have been laughing at the little list of titles this single clan held, but they had his brother, and these were the bitter hours, the somber days…

The dying times.

In the end, Italy was in… well, they discovered Italy was in Italy.

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><p>"He's been underneath my nose the whole time…" Romano whispered in bed that night.<p>

Romano tilted onto his side, huddled close into Spain's arms. Spain, in response, wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, holding Romano against him. With a light breath, he trailed his fingertips through the soft mess that was Romano's drying hair from his earlier shower.

"I know, Lovi." He said simply, in a light, comforting voice. "But we don't know where in Italy…"

Romano parted his lips to remark something in that tired murmur of his, to give the already-denied suggestion that he could go out into the land of his country, to search for any sort of answer, but then he closed them and instead burrowed the side of his face against Spain's chest. The moonlight turned the walls periwinkle blue, and Romano wondered if his brother saw the same moonlight from wherever he was in Italy before finally getting a sleep he deserved.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N - I did the thing, currently working on 7, please enjoy and review!**

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><p>Italy awoke to the dimness of his cell, having curled up in the corner where he knew the sunlight hit if it were to be a day of nice weather. He felt the weak rays of light warm his dirty skin, burn his sleep-filled eyes as he blinked several times to get used to it.<p>

It was in the midst of his blinking, however, that he noticed a dark mass on the other side of the room. He tilted his head, wondering what it could be. From his dream, he still smelled freshly-cut fruits to be dipped in chocolate and heard the satisfied hums of children trying new candy, and made him believe this shape was his brother.

That had been when Romano worked in a candy store for some extra money he couldn't get from the restaurant the two of them had. Made him dream of those rather peaceful times when he would come in and Romano would be stringing candies to make necklaces or wrapping lollipops or making fudge – there was always a smear of peanut butter on Romano's forehead and he somehow got a smudge of classic chocolate on his elbow when cleaning. And preparing candy canes at Christmas, because Romano would hum the music he called cruel for being catchy.

"_Fratello!_" he yelped hopefully, darting out of his patch of morning warmth and reaching for what he believed to be Romano. He wasn't alone anymore! But the dark figure turned out to be another set of clothes, having just dried, and set up to look like a tossed-about body.

He was tired of crying, but he started to anyway.

Italy changed clothing despite his blurry vision, and settled back down carefully.

Where was his brother? Where were Spain and Germany and Japan and France and everyone else? Why weren't they here? Why weren't they saving him?

* * *

><p>"Let me go, let me go,<em>letmego,<em>_**letmegoletmego!**_" Italy screeched, flailing his limbs to free himself. The hands were hurting him, the multiple hands that came up out of the water and clasped on parts of his body to drag him under.

The water stung his eyes, and it had happened too quickly for him to create a bubble of air around his head so he could breathe. It was always like that. His lungs hurt, he couldn't breathe, before the hands let him go and he was able to float back to the surface in a struggle for air.

And again, and again, and again, until finally, actual hands yanked him onto the platform he couldn't reach and out of the cursed water. He lay on his back, panting, the thin shirt clinging to his thin figure, and the ribs slowly becoming noticeable.

Italy had the heels of his hands stuck to the dips where his eyes were, fingertips brushing his ice-cold forehead, before tangling themselves in his wet, dripping hair. Puffs of mist left his lips as his breathing fell, so painfully slow, back into a normal pace.

"I can't keep doing this, please, please, _please_…! Let me go," he begged to the two guards on the lowering platform with him. "I won't tell anyone, I promise that-!" he cut off in a harsh coughing, little hands holding his stomach. As if it would make the kick from the one guard feel less painful.

No words were said to him, and Italy understood. He knew that they knew what he had said was false. He would tell the other Nations if they did let him go. The men of the Clan knew that the other Nations – wherever they were – knew that Italy was missing.

"Rest," a young man, probably the only one who had a little heart for poor Italy, said as he offered a towel. Italy felt a glare worthy for his brother to be giving itching his eyes, but this young man – who had only seen Italy a couple of times too – didn't deserve it.

He denied the towel, bending the water out of his hair and hanging, heavy clothes. The pants threatened to leave where they were snug at his boney hips. The water splashed to the floor, so the towel was put aside and a ladle of something – it ended up being hot chocolate – was offered instead.

Italy began to cry anew.

Where _the hell_ did they find the nerve to give him hot chocolate? _Hot chocolate_. Wasn't he a freaking prisoner? A hesitant sip and he tossed the drink aside. It tasted like the hot chocolate his brother made, with the little marshmallows and crackling peppermints and drizzle of caramel that clung to the roof of his mouth. _Every last…!_

He cried harder and howled and whined and cursed the man who gave him the drink to warm his still-chilled bones. To hell if that man was new and didn't know. He took up the puddle of water from before, lashing out at nothing yet everything at the same time. Needles buried into his skin, pinching, making him gasp a surprised breath. He stumbled and his vision blurred, but not with tears or the feeling of his skull splitting open, but to the drugs running swiftly through his system.

* * *

><p>Italy moaned and his head rolled, the movement prickling his sore neck.<p>

His face hurt too, and his eyes, and as he woke up more, he came to acknowledge his whole body was in pain. Italy stretched, catlike as he tiled his head into the stone of his cell, to stare dazedly at the slim window just out of his reach.

He did it all of the time; Italy did, standing at the window. His toes ached as he tried so hard each time to reach, his fingertips just barely brushing one of the thick bars.

Italy had a dream while he was out of it, but it was not of someone dipping star-shaped fruit into vats of warm chocolate or a hum in the throat that made him feel safe and sound. It was the dawn of morning speeding into his pathetic little window, and a hand reaching down for him, his brother's hand, Germany's hand, someone's hand that longed to bring him home.

But it was night, not dawn, so no hand was desperate to hold his and take him away.

"… I must change how I see this situation, yes…" Italy sniffed, lips trying to form a pout. "Soon, soon, oh so soon, will I be home and _fratello_ will be making pasta with me and we'll be on nice beaches and sit in a nice café for _merenda_ and Ludwig will be with me a week after, and we'll be sitting listening to the chatter of his people on new benches, but I won't understand it much so when we go into a bookstore, he will have to translate for me and…" Italy murmured, trailing off with a funny smile. He barely understood what he had just said, whatever it was that had been forced into his system not wearing off just yet.

In his fuzzy state of mind, all of that disappeared and he was replaced with the fear he held since day one.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - Happy Holidays everyone! Enjoy and review!**

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><p>"Now, Lovino, you know we're only doing this to prepare you for when we do find where they're holding Feliciano-…" Germany was telling him, while Romano slipped a tank top over his head.<p>

"But in your mind, you're upsettingly thinking _if_ we find where they're keeping Feli!" Romano interrupted, smoothing out any possible wrinkles. Together they walked out into the middle of the room where the others were warming up, either stretching or practicing their Bending. "I know this is a preparation, okay, and I know to not kill any of you, blah, blah, blah. Anything else?"

With a hesitant shake of the head, the two of them walked out into the center of the basement. They were surrounded by the others – America, England, France, Canada, Japan, Prussia, and Belgium. For several minutes, they stretched while muttering counts and warmed up with their Fire or Air.

* * *

><p>Romano found his footfalls landing light, his hair catching in his eyes. By the end of the night, his limbs would ache and there would surely be wrappings on his leg from England's water lash, or a bump on his arm from meeting with the wall when being blasted away by Canada.<p>

They were warmed with adrenaline, having been tossed back in forth like worn ragdolls, and it was then when Romano pushed France away with a weak wave of flames, they all stumbled to their knees and backs and fronts in relaxation. Laughter burned their lungs, smiles broke their lips.

It had been a while.

Spain pulled Romano to his chest, their faces relaxed and happy with Romano pressing light pecks to Spain's throat and jawline. But he ached, he mentally bled, he missed his brother's laugh. It'll be okay, it'll be okay, he'll be back, things will be fine, oh my God oh my God….! A deep breath, and he relaxed, rolling from his side to his back and looking at the ceiling. His smile was small, but with Spain holding one hand, it became relaxed.

They sat up at last, as did the others, while requesting water from France as he stood and moved for the dresser. France tossed them each a bottled water that dripped from the melting ice in its bowl, and turned on the radio.

"Not that station," they complained with every other station.

"I hate this song,"

"Try this one,"

"Or this one?"

"Finally!"

They found a station to listen to, sitting around with light chatter. It was a break from practice, true relaxation they deserved. Until static erupted the music with a heart-racing screech, and then complete silence.

"I told you we should replace the batteries before bringing that thing down here," Prussia muttered to France.

France opened his mouth to speak, but a crackling voice on the radio started up.

It was a jumble of voices, but it was easy to hear one voice. "Get away from- please- Let me go, I promise I…! _Don't touch me!_"

Static.

Romano's water bottle hit the matted floor.

* * *

><p>They hurried out of the large room, not shoving – thank God – but yelling at one another as they skipped steps and burst into the hallway, with their meeting room just further down. They just about broke the doors off of its hinges.<p>

A new e-mail notification lit up from where Romano's laptop had been abandoned on his section of table. Romano opened it as he went to set it in the correct place for it to show on the wall, where England hooked it up and they were able to watch.

They sat through several broken minutes of screaming and crying and rattling and splashing. Again, it was silence that they welcomed as they tried to get over the shock of what they just saw.

Really, they couldn't accept that they had just witnessed such cruel things happen to Italy. It was worse than what the Nations had been given in pictures and videos, as they didn't watch Italy get water pelted at him like before, but it was these monsters putting him under the knife.

_And he was still breathing and his heart still beating and his eyes open…! __And I…_ Romano felt his chest tighten and a sour, rotten sting rise in his throat. He looked away. Spain's arms were warm, his beating heart only slightly calming, but it didn't stop the video from fueling his approaching nightmares.

"… And I just let it happen…" he whispered. His hands gripped Spain's shirt, and really, Romano was waiting to hear the fabric rip. "… And... _DAMNIT_. Damnit, _how_...?! How could I let this happen? _I'm_ his _brother_; I'm the one who's supposed to prevent this! _Damnit, I don't care, I don't care, I don't care…!_ I wish it were me, all along, it would be so much better if it were me and not my… precious… little brother…"

Everyone was staring as Romano ripped himself from Spain's grasp, his wide and lost green eyes burning. He was accusing all of them with that long, lively glare.

"Francis!" he called to attention, meeting the awaiting blue gaze. "Would you let this happen to Alfred and Matthew? For as long as this has been going on for my brother?" Romano asked.

France didn't need to think. "No… I wouldn't."

"Then Arthur. What about Alfred? Matthew?"

"… No… In the end, they're still my little brothers." Arthur replied.

"Alfred?"

"You're insane to believe I would say yes. Nothing happens to my bro!"

"Gilbert, what about you? And Emma and Kiku? Ludwig, if _you_ had a little sibling?"

Ludwig definitely gave Gilbert a glance – _it's like I've always had one_ – and they shook their heads. Romano finally settled on Spain, his face looking absolutely beaten and he felt so cheated.

"… Toni?"

"Until my last breath, I would let nothing stop me."

Romano looked around. "… Then why delay me several months? Why make Feli wait so long to get out of there? In the end, we're all family. Maybe I'm not the only one who has managed to forget then. You all agree that you would do it without a second thought when it concerns your brothers, so what reason do you have when it concerns my brother that it needs thought over twice? If we're all family, shouldn't it be just the same? Oh, you're all afraid because it's humans that are deciding to face up against us. Oh wow, I'm so scared. Well let me tell you that while all of us can be replaced in the end, they can be replaced quicker. No other personification will ever be accepted as an exact copy of Feliciano, never be accepted as my little brother."

"Lovi," Spain started.

"No! … Just, please, these next two weeks will be true Hell for me. Don't let him wait anymore. Get me a ticket closest to the Italian border and I will search the whole damn country for him."

* * *

><p>Italy hissed a breath as he came to. His vision was blurred with sleep and his head pounded like he had consumed too much wine the previous night before. But there were no wine bottles sitting near him, no pizza box holding five cold slices and three crusts. Romano was nowhere to be found, as by then he would be cleaning up the little mess Italy made.<p>

_"__Rough week, hm, little brother?" he asked, leaning the broom against the wall to go prepare a glass of water and medicine._

_He blinked his eyes as he studied the living room to clear up his vision. __It was dim, the curtains pulled over to make the sunlight retreat. __He propped his feet up on the table, feeling hot and sweaty and disgusting in the jeans he was wearing. __The laces on his combat boots clinked off of the two wine bottles on the coffee table. __One was empty, the other missing only enough for a glass. __The glass itself was on the floor, the stem broken, and the wine a drying puddle on the carpet._

_Italy rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his mind coming to a blank.__ "__I can't remember last night… so why do I feel so afraid…"_

Italy tested the nerves in his hand, fingers twitching and his wrist becoming alive with pain. He doubled over with a cry. And then flew back, panting and huffing to get the cold brick against the back of his neck. Italy waited until he was calm again, to lift his hand to his shirt. It was buttoned unevenly, and maybe it would have been better to not have been buttoned at all.

Same with the long slice across his stomach. It had been stitched up unevenly, and trickled with blood. It was trying to clot, Italy realized, when he skimmed his fingertips over the wound.

"Why didn't I tell him, oh my God, why didn't I tell them all that I felt like I was being watched back then?"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N - :'D Tbh, I had no idea where I was going with this chapter, haha.**

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><p>"Drop me off here,"<p>

France moved his head around to watch Romano over his shoulder. "Here? Are you sure? ... There are _much _more suitable places to..."

"Yes, I'm sure." Romano hissed, the certain tone of his voice making the other three wince.

France sighed lightly, sharing a glance with Prussia beside him. He pulled over, coming to a slow stop in front of a... oh. That actually was an abandoned building.

"Are you sure, Lovi?" Prussia decided to assure again, having jumped up in his seat to stare at the little building that would surely collasp right when Romano entered. They all looked back at him.

Romano returned the look, his expression seeming to tell them that he was insanely bored.

"Well... Alright then," France replied, his tone unsure.

"Mhm... So, you know to turn on your cameras and stuff so we get the signals back home, yeah?" Prussia questioned.

Romano tilted his head, blindly unbuckling his seatbelt. It was Prussia's car, though originally Germany's. It was an old one, so to take off the seatbelt required a second click. But a moment later, Spain was holding that hand, and drained away what thoughts Romano had. He stared at their intertwined hands, knowing he would miss the warmth, before snapping back up and snatching his hand away.

"Of course," he answered.

"... And you won't need us to come pick you up?" France had to confirm. After all, he didn't want to have the soon-to-be stressed and tired Romano - though those were things he already was, sadly - abandoned in a country so far away from England, where they had started staying since that morning.

"No. I'll... end my search in _Sicilia_- um, Sicily. I... I have a place there, y'know..."

"Lovino, stop. You make it sound like you won't find him. _You will_. After all, you and Feli know the country of Italy... best." Prussia grumbled, slumping in his seat with an upsetting huff. France placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, blue gaze disapproving.

"I can't help it," Romano whispered, knowing it wasn't a good excuse. They used to be the best, before this Clan ruined it. "... Well... I guess this is it,"

The trio chirped their farewells in their own languages, Spain passing on a gentle kiss to his cheek, and Romano replied with his own "_Adio_," before getting out of the running car. He got out his bookbag, slinging it over his shoulder. He slammed the door shut, and headed off for the building.

The building, old and rundown, used to be one that sold mainly candles and handed out fresh iced tea and lemonade on hot summer days. Had a bowl of grandmother candy at the register, a metal rack of postcards by the door. He could still make out the ringing of the bell above him. Italy always dragged him there because, well, that was insanely delicious iced tea.

Behind him, the car sped off only to turn around and head home.

* * *

><p>It had been a long while later that France, Prussia, and Spain finally returned to England.<p>

It had begun to rain when they drove up to the Nation's house, becoming completely drenched the moment they got out of the car. They skipped steps up to the front door, France being quick to open a little door beside the mailbox and producing a second key.

Inside was warm, and they slipped out of their shoes because England's foyer was of hardwood. Falling down and possibily cracking their heads open was suddenly their first concern. There was light chatter coming from down the hall, and France led the way. The Nations were gathered around the table in England's dining room, eating a light lunch.

The three Nations entered the room, finding places to relax in to. France found himself straying to England's side, and hid their hand-holding while replying to America and Canada's greetings. (France and England had that on-again-off-again relationship since forever, and while in such a situation, they were definitely together)

Prussia slung an arm about his brother's shoulders, and replied to Canada's welcome back and pancake-giving with a thankful smile. (Prussia could sense Canada's feelings about him only so much, sadly, but this had begun several years ago)

Spain found himself by Belgium. (Ah, old friends)

"So... how are you?" Belgium asked softly, placing her mug of coffee on the window sill she was leaning against.

"... Tired, stressed, and worried. Miserable but hopeful."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Lovi contacted us between the time you dropped him off and now." she told him.

"Are you serious?! What did he say?" Spain blurted out,

"Well, yesterday he was already searching through the _Emillia-Romagna _region of Northern Italy. But that really confused us, since he couldn't have gotten through those other regions so quickly in the time he was dropped off and the call, but he told us he didn't want to waste time." Belgium informed him.

"How would he...?"

Belgium opened her mouth to speak, but they were interrupted with everyone standing and a maid beginning to clear the table of its plates. Belgium led her friend up the flight of steps down the hall. "We'll explain it once we get there and contact Lovi since France, Prussia, and you had been out altogether."

Once in the room - it was incredibly different than when France had seen it last - they settled at different places at the sleeping computers. All but the three who were completely lost went about putting on headsets, either wearing them properly or around their necks.

"Ah, Arthur, I believe we are in need of an explanation," France informed.

"Oh, yes..." And Arthur pulled up a map of Italy after opening a window for Romano's video feed when it would connect. It was organized by region, and several were already crossed off.

"Two days ago you dropped Lovino in the _Valle d'Aosta _region. By the time we connected with him yesterday morning, he was already in the _Emillia-Romagna _region." England started.

"Which confused you guys because he couldn't have..." France finally noted.

"Crossed through _Valle d'Aosta, Piemonte, Liguria, Lombardia, Trentino-Alto Adige, Friuli-Venezia Giulia_ or _Veneto _in so many hours to reach _Emillia-Romagna_," It clicked in Spain's head, and Prussia nodded.

"And this is where gut instinct becomes fifty-fifty," England replied. "Lovino told us he had a feeling Feliciano was in none of the regions mentioned before. So he traveled around for a region that would... give him a sense that his brother was near, I suppose you could say. But what if it was just getting to him? That could be a waste of time heading for, say, _Basilicata _and not searching in _Veneto_."

"... Mhm, so Feli's in _Emillia-Romagna_? Where exactly?" Prussia asked.

"Lovino says he's not in that region." Belgium suddenly spoke up.

"Put on the headsets closest to your computers." England informed, turning around to place his on.

"-... I've searched most of that region, but I skipped _Liguria_." Romano had already connected, but his video feed was just then loading. He was pacing on the roof of a building, and it was raining too.

"So where are you exactly?" Germany asked.

"Oh, I don't know where the hell I am _exactly_, but can you find the Northern section of _Umbria_ on your handy-dandy little map?"

"So you put _Toscana_ and _Marche_ behind you?" England asked for clarification.

"... I had a feeling..." Romano eventually said, slingshooting himself to another rooftop. He was jogging lightly to cross the distance, but stopped short with a hiss. After a moment, he was taking off again.

"Lovi?!" Spain yelped, as did the others, out of alarm and surprise.

"He's here, he's here, he's here, somewhere in the _Umbaria _region, no, no, no _not _north. Ah, probably west? No, no, no, stop, _stop_, **_stop_**. The origin, the origin, _the middle_."

He disconnected.


	9. Chapter 9

The rain had stopped, and Romano watched as the sky darkened and the lights of whatever city he was close to lit up with time. To his left, after a long stretch of empty land was a single warehouse dotting the cloudy, dark gray horizon. His destination, the place that made his stomach churn and his head throb and his blood run cold with a mixture of emotions.

"Stop your pacing, Lovino, _please_. All in good time while Arthur researches the building's history." France spoke to him.

A slow in his actions for him to think and answer. "So he's planning on taking _centuries_, then? I already did what you asked this morning after connecting again to _wait until nightfall_ for everything to be sorted out and shit, which was _torturous_, so I like to believe I deserve a quick-paced research team."

"You know, just because Francis is talking and I'm researching this damned place, it doesn't mean I can't hear you." England grumbled.

"Well, is-..." Romano would have continued, but he knew that what he planned on exclaiming was too hurtful, even though almost everything Romano said on a daily basis was hurtful. He glanced away, knowing that they couldn't see it from the little camera pinned to his uniform collar. "Just hurry,"

"... Alright," England started up after a minute. "The warehouse has been abandoned for years, obviously, and in recent years hasn't been looked into for repair or demolition. In the past, it's gone from being a storage unit for larger farming equipment to... industrial supplies like that for houses or other buildings in the demo stage, roads, pooling, et cetera."

Romano fell still.

"So that explains the one set of photos, where they..." Canada's voice murmured, though unable to continue. It was understandable.

"Ah, and lately, it seems as though the warehouse has been popular in several gangs and other groups' curiosity while empty." Japan read next. "Though they aren't caught yet, which is odd."

The process continued, and when it seemed as though Romano was going to give them a wave, a pissed off "_Arrivederci, bitches!_" and go busting into the warehouse with very little information, it was concluded that Italy was indeed there and that Romano could execute the plan of rescuing the lost Nation.

* * *

><p>Romano entered through a broken window, though getting up there hadn't been easy either. He slipped in, landing lightly on the floor before standing and dusting himself off.<p>

"So you have the layout of the building? The most recent one? And you took down any possible cameras they could have put up?" Romano whispered.

"I've pulled it up, yes. And I have full control of the cameras." England replied.

"Any rooms that are a possibility, then?" he asked.

"... There should be a room on the floor below you, most definitely, as these photos of the building's layout show... what is likely the torture instruments we've seen being used on Feliciano in some of the photos. Leave the room you're in for the hallway, and there should be a staircase to your right." Japan noted.

Romano did as was said by his friend, locating the door nearest to him that revealed a hallway on either side of him. A twist of his body and he was turning right, heading silently but quickly for the EXIT door. He went for the staircase leading down, before hitting the next floor.

Romano was ready to open the door when he heard a scream.

"... _Fratello_...?"

He turned and bolted.

All the while he was trying to find exactly where the scream had come from, Romano was trying hard to block out the yelling from the multiple Nations on the other end, telling him to stop and think and _don't go bursting into any rooms like an unprepared idiot!_

But he had to find his brother, Italy was here, he was somewhere within his grasp, Romano-

...

Romano stared at the mostly empty room before him. He was either on the ground floor or in a possible basement... but this is where the screaming had come from, where Italy should be, where his captor should be too, so why was there only a few chalkboards lined up in a semi-circle to enclose a littered lab table?

His panting slowed, his mind racing to process just what the hell this was.

"... Caution," a little voice reminded him, one that Romano remembered to be Belgium's.

"What the hell?" Prussia murmured next, and Romano could picture him leaning forward in his chair as if it would help him get a better image of this strange room.

Romano neared in silence, feeling as though he should be wielding a gun, which he had with him though, as opposed to his hands that could conjure life-ending flames. With each step, it came to be noted that each chalkboard held a blend of photographs.

Photographs of all of the Nations.

There was Germany, which were simple and cold, though depended if it were peaceful hours at home or if he were leaving the company building with his slicked back hair, narrowed blue eyes, and boring outfit.

Japan too, where he sipped tea outside of a café to pulling off a book from a bookshelf in a bookstore to walking his little dog back home.

Prussia, riding on a skateboard - a dog pulling him, and he had a smile on his face. Talking on his phone and holding hands with Canada. At home, bothering his brother for something, whatever it was.

Spain in his tomato garden, or out shopping amongst the chattering crowds of his people. Making his bed in the morning. On his porch at night, kissing Romano goodbye.

America was next, and he was playing football with autumn as his background. Setting a child on his shoulders so she could dunk a basketball. At home, playing video games.

England too, where he was leaving an airport in Paris with France by his side. And holding a cigarette to his mouth, smoking quietly in the morning with a thoughtful look on his face. In a local library, checking out books.

France's ranged, from being on his balcony at sunset with a wine glass in hand to on his balcony at sunrise, kissing England. Decorating a cake for some set of newlyweds, to picking out clothes.

Canada had been ice-skating in one of his, and having a snowball fight with America in another.

There were others as well, like Belgium and The Netherlands and Russia and China, but their photographs were in low numbers, as though they weren't as important. Romano wondered where he and Italy were.

And the table explained it, photographs in higher numbers than their friends, of Italy and Romano together at home, at the beach or on the streets of their country. Some of Italy ordering coffee, or trying to catch a cat that wasn't theirs but kind of was, and there were those when Italy was painting. Some of Romano at the candy store smearing fudge on his forehead as he poured it into a pan, and some of him cutting a freshly-made pizza, to walking down the street in a suit and on his phone with a look of anger on his face.

But that wasn't it. There were things that the brothers had assumed had gone missing and would be found when they wanted to be found, like Romano's one scarf or a bottle of Italy's cologne. Thick, ripped paper that had things they had said written on them such as "_Stupid bastard, ever do anything right? Geez, let me do it!_" and "Fratello_! Lovi? Wake up, come make pasta with me!"_

He felt sick. So, so sick. He couldn't breathe.

And then another scream interrupted his thoughts.

We've lost control of the cameras, they know, they know, get out, Lovino, get out of there before you get yourself killed or put Feliciano in more danger or you both die- **GET OUT NOW**

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! I need to do this, I can't fail, he's here-..." Romano had run to the door across the room, throwing it open to fling himself around the several staircases for the chance that he could catch up, that he could get Italy back.

Down a hall lit with lights hanging by spider web-like wires, Romano raced. There was more screaming now, and a door just right there.

"_Fratello_?" he shouted. "_Fratello_! I'm here, I'm here, you're safe, I promise...!" Behind the door revealed a van with two men struggling to put Italy inside across the large basement.

More lights, hanging by spider webs. The walls were gray, and of stone, as was the floor, and what was obviously an escape route. Upon his entrance, the three began to fall still.

"Interesting..." Romano murmured, straightening out. He was ignoring the headset that blared the Nations' voices in his ears. He had to focus. Italy was there, _he could do this_.

"Big brother!" Italy wailed, putting up his struggle again. His eyes were wide open, his hands reaching and grasping at air, but the arms were suffocating, the water merciless. "Let me go!"

One of the men stepped forward. How stupid, he wanted to be burned, he wanted Romano to inflict the worst on him. He pulled a gun, Romano brought his flames to life in both of his hands.

"... So which will it be for you guys?" he spat, voice shaky as the flames desperately grew, his eyes flashing to a wavering gold hue. "Fight or flight, hm? I mean, you probably want to stay alive. I just want my brother-!"

Romano swung on his heel, leaning back as the bullet whizzed past him. As he completed the turn, he flung a stream of fire at the single man before him.

"Oh, I see!" he noted carefully. "_How fun_."

And so they went at it.

The bullets flew, and even though Romano was able to dodge them and intercept their paths, there were bullets that grazed his skin and dug deep. His shoulder was bleeding, as was his side and his leg, but it didn't stop him.

Romano threw fire, and made the man practically _dance _when striking at his feet. He was covered in burns, but none too bad. And eventually, his bullets disappeared and he had to replace his gun with a knife.

The blade swiped across his cheek, and close to his eye. There was a time when it trimmed several strands of his hair, and stabbed near his knee.

Romano's face was a bloody mess, and he skidded back for a chance to wipe it away. He was panting too, an obvious opening for the Nation to dart forward, jumping and twisting his body. Romano shot his foot out, the combat boot's heel colliding and making the man fly.

He cherished the echoing crack, only for the time being.

"Lovino, you just killed a man!" he heard someone - was it America? - snap.

It was in his minute of recovery that Italy let out a warning screech, muffled from the gag the man that held him back had put on him during the scuffle. But Romano didn't act so fast.

Another bullet buried into his stomach, and he stumbled backwards. Droplets of blood had flew from his mouth, and now clung to his chin in a light dribble. Italy's tears bubbled over his eyes, flooding down his cheeks and dampening the cloth gag.

Romano began to collapse, falling to stand on one knee. He spat out a mixture of blood and spit off to the side, igniting his hand up in flames again. He blinked multiple times, watching as the man tossed Italy into the back of the van, and his poor brother was too much in shock to struggle like he had been before.

He managed to stand, but collapsed when taking a step forward and Italy cried harder. The door was slammed shut, falling down like the dusty plastic blinds in Italy's bedroom. Romano was breathing heavy, and the van was heading off.

"You aren't getting away, you can't get away..." he hissed, pushing off the headset and small camera device attached to his person. His run was unsteady, but soon evened as he followed the path that the van took.

A garage door up ahead opened, and the van sped out. Romano dived to the outside world just as it closed.

There was such fury building up within Romano. He flipped into the air, preparing a blast of fire to sling upon the van with his foot when another pain - much like the bullets and knife had caused him - pierced his body that knocked him out of focus. In the time that he was airborne, he swung his fist for another shot, which only caused the van to rock a bit.

The ground was rushing up to meet him then, and it was kind of beautiful until, before blacking out, the van disappeared. And then everything was revolting and pure darkness.


	10. Please Read

**A/N - Okay, let me get this straight. I do not like this at all. It's a mess. I'm not giving up. I want to rewrite it.**

**Now, since that's been said, it's easy to figure out that I'm starting it over. I will get around to Chapter 1 soon, and will hopefully post it on a Friday. My goal is to keep the updates on Friday, and write for a plot that isn't going to end with a bunch of loose ends and has better... detail. When I get around to uploading it, I wlll delete this.**

**The final thing that has bothered me is the reviews. This got very little reviews - two, actually, for a story that was at nine chapters of an estimated eighteen. But meanwhile, this got a number of favorites and follows I'm okay with. I wonder how hard is it to take a minute to five out of your day to leave a review. Is it asking for too much? ****_Really_****? Are you all waiting for a poof and a bang and my writing will be better with each update? I'm sorry to disappoint, but I can't do that. I run on feedback, I like the feeling that someone's getting something out of what I spend my free time on.**

**I hope this isn't ending on too much of a bitter, sassy, or demanding note, and that things will be better in the future! ^^**


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